


A Life Apart

by honeyedlion



Category: Princess Princess (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Crossdressing, Developing Relationship, Growing Up, M/M, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedlion/pseuds/honeyedlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tooru finds adjustment difficult. One can never really stop being a Princess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Apart

Tooru only finds it strange when he is outside of the school. It is only there that he finds himself having trouble fitting in.  
  
    Never in big ways. Only in the little things, things that are unimportant but still matter. It is as though now that he has adapted, he cannot go back. One cannot retire from being a Princess he supposes. Even so, it is hard.  
  
    It isn’t until his second year of college that he gives in to the urge. It starts with something small. Something he needs anyway. Razors.  
  
    But this time, instead of picking up the usual brand of cheap and disposable, he lingers by a ladies display at the front of the aisle. He thinks about the pull and scratch of a cheap disposable razor on his face. He thinks about the soft feel of silk settling over his bare legs, smooth from shaving. He felt- he felt strong in those legs. They were soft and smooth, and when he walked bare in the summer he was watched.  
  
    He remembers other things. He remembers Yuujiro calling him a dirty boy, teasing smile on full lips, and telling him that there were definitely other places to be shaved besides his legs. Mikoto looked on horrified, but to Tooru it made sense. It was part of the job. It was another sequin on the mask, and besides- it had - it had felt a little good, didn’t it? To be so smooth and soft and neat-  
       
    The razors are in his basket before he really realizes, but it is still two months before he will use them.  
  
:  
  
    Sakamoto calls him one weekend. He’ll be in Tokyo, and is wondering if Tooru wants to hang out for a few hours, get something to eat, or see a movie. Sakamoto sounds just the same, calm and benevolent and Tooru agrees almost immediately. It is not until he hangs up that he begins to worry.  
  
    After all, it has been almost two years since he last saw Sakamoto-san in person. They spoke on the phone regularly. Nothing big, just how things were, and best wishes, but he still considers Sakamoto to be an important person to him. And now. Tooru looks down at his stained t-shirt and began to panic just a little.  
  
    When Sakamoto comes to pick him up he is wearing all new clothes. He can’t really afford them, but he’ll just pick up a few more hours at his part-time job, if necessary. At least this is what he tells himself. But really, it doesn’t worry him. When Sakamoto smiles at him, green eyes lighting up with warmth, Tooru doesn’t really need an excuse. He feels young again, and he feels perfect and wanted, here with Sakamoto.  
  
    They go to a coffee shop, and Sakamoto tells him funny stories about his family. They drink coffee, and so into the lie is Tooru, that he is surprised to see no lipstick stains on his cup. It startles him, a little, to have drifted so far from who he is now, a sophomore male in college with a girlfriend. He tries to let it slide, but the feeling won’t.  
  
    “But tell me about you Tooru. How is class?”  
  
    Tooru laughs a little. There isn’t anything to tell. He goes to class, he goes to work he comes home. His life is pretty empty. On the weekends he meets up with Yuri and they go out. Nothing big, but she isn’t an elaborate gesture kind of girl. He sketches this out in small details. And when Sakamoto suggests they go sightseeing, to break the awkward silence of his life, Tooru jumps at the idea.  
  
    So they go shopping. There aren’t a lot of shops nearby, and the ones there are not the kind that normally interest two straight college boys, but Akira isn’t normal, and despite what he has spent years trying to convince himself neither is Tooru. They spend some time wandering, before Akira finally stops, and walks inside of a small boutique. Tooru followed absently behind him, and he doesn’t really look around, until he hears the sharp chiming of the bell on the door as it shuts behind him.  
  
    Akira is talking about possibly buying something for his sisters, but Tooru isn’t listening to him. His hands are already buried in the racks of silk and cotton, lace and ribbons, pushing things aside. He hasn’t grown much since high school, much less than he had expected to and while a mere two weeks ago it bothered him, now the thought excites him. He imagines the feel of this dress slipping over his head, the way he will look, his long legs stretching from the hemline. The idea of this is intoxicating.  
  
    And frightening. This is not who he is. Not who he wants to be. Not who he is…  
  
    He looks up to find Akira watching him, a small smile on his face, and Tooru can feel himself blushing, his hand slipping from the rack. Akira is holding a dress in one hand, and says nothing as he heads to the front to pay for it. They don’t speak of it on their way to dinner.  
  
    When Akira leaves, Tooru finds the bag with the dress on the bench seat next to him. Written on the back is a small note. ‘It’s your colors, and if this isn’t too forward, you should really contact Yuujiro.’ Tooru doesn’t know what to think. He does know that the dress smells sweet and new, and that it is in his colors. Akira had an excellent eye in choosing this. In fact, Tooru is beginning to get a sneaking feeling about his intentions for entering the shop in the first place.  
  
    The dress is shoved into the back of his closet, and the note crumpled into a pocket. He does not call Shihoudani. He won’t call him.  
  
:  
  
    But the thought doesn’t leave him. He can’t help it. His bathroom fills up with unopened tubes of make-up; he gains shoes to match the dress, the tags still on both. It’s as though he’s preparing for something, nesting almost. It feels wrong; at the same time as just the sight of the unopened bottle of forty odd dollar perfume calms him in some fundamental way.  
  
    However, as the fall semester blends into winter, things with Yuri become worse. He wonders sometimes why he is with her to begin with. She’s quiet and a little mean, and her hair is longer than he usually likes in a girl. And she is definitely not calming.  
     
They break up in December. It’s ugly, and the worst part of it is that Tooru can’t bring himself to care.  
  
:  
  
    He calls Yuujiro.  
  
    Yuujiro doesn’t answer.  
  
:  
  
    The winter continues, and Tooru slowly comes to realize his wardrobe looks as though it is inhabited by two very different people. One, a bland boy of middling height and few interests. The other, a delicate girl of expensive taste and good looks. It is hard for him to look at, and realize that in some ways, he is both.  
  
:  
  
    In spring, Yuujiro shows up on his doorstep.  
  
    Tooru stands there for a moment, his eyes wide in shock. Yuujiro is standing there, a light jacket thrown over a thin t-shirt that shows off the elegant line of his collarbone, and all that hair pulled up into a high ponytail. He looks like a model, his beautiful cheekbones, and fierce eyes accentuated. Tooru opens the door wider. He feels short and bland but none of that matters. Yuujiro is standing in his doorway, looking at him inscrutably.  
  
    What can he do?  
  
    He widens the door, hands numb and lets him in.  
  
    “What are you-“  
  
    Yuujiro turns to look at him, and Tooru’s breath catches, and he can feel his heart pounding. What is he going to say?  
  
    And suddenly, as Yuujiro looks away at his pause, Tooru can see the indecision in his eyes. And that decides him more than anything.  
  
    Yuujiro is taller now, and to kiss him, Tooru has to stretch upwards on his toes, his bare feet sliding a little on the shined wooden floor. His mouth is slick and wet, and so soft, and when Yuujiro’s arm wrap around him Tooru sighs. This is what he waited for, everything he has missed. Yuujiro backs him up against the wall, warm hands sliding up the front of his shirt, and Tooru pushes into the touch, so needy, and he hadn’t known.  
  
    “Why are you here?” Tooru asks, because although this feels amazing, although this is everything, they also need to talk. A hard point to remember when he can feel the soft tips of Yuujiro’s ponytail brushing the back of his hand where it curls around his neck.  
  
    Yuujiro pulls back, and again those toffee eyes show indecision. Worry. Fear and pride.  
  
    “You called.” Yuujiro finally says. He looks serious. “You said you never would, so I came.”  
  
    Their mouths come together again, and this time Tooru lets it carry him away, his mouth parting slickly to let Yuujiro’s tongue in, pushing fiercely at him, and his hands fist in the thin material of his jacket. His mind feels hazy and thick.  
Yuujiro pulls back again, and Tooru whines, his eyes opening slowly.  
  
    “Where is your bedroom?”  
  
    They tumble onto his futon in a rush, and Tooru gasps as delicate hands slip inside of his slacks, slim fingers with big knuckles pulling open his buttons and zippers and mind in a practiced rush. He feels dizzy and slow, and Yuujiro is still kissing him into the mattress, mouth so wide and hungry on his. It’s hard for him to think or move, but he has waited two years to get another chance to do this, and he isn’t going to let it pass him by.  
  
    Yuujiro’s belt is thin and complicated, a bit of designer fashion with too many holes and loops, and by the time Tooru gets it off of him; he is already bare in Yuujiro’s hand. His hands are grabbing desperately at the sheets, at anything, and in final desperation he wraps them around Yuujiro, his short nails sinking into the skin of his neck. He feels, for the second time in his life completely undone.  
  
    The first time, being of course, the second time Shihoudani had bothered to kiss him.  
  
    With that thought, Tooru comes, back arching and eyes wide, staring into those of the man above him. Yuujiro looks shocked, breathless; his mouth open and wet, and high spots of color in his cheeks. It’s a beautiful look for him, and seconds after he’s done, Tooru is already kissing it off of him. He rolls them easily, and he can see where Yuujiro’s hand is wet with him, and he bends his back in an arch to lick at that hand, long fingers slender with rough knuckles. Yuujiro has always had those hands. He remembers them curving around a pencil, as he studied, the light from the desk highlighting the pale caramel of his hair.  
  
    When his tongue flickers in between the juncture, Yuujiro hisses, his expression feral and wild, and Tooru pulls away to wrench his tight jeans down his hips, his movements harsh with want. Yuujiro, is thick and heavy and Tooru can feel his hands shaking a little. His mouth waters at the sight, and he drops a brief kiss on Yuujiro’s slack mouth before he licks him from base to head, his tongue moving in a broad swipe.  
  
    Yuujiro’s voice is deeper than it was before. Not just the timber, and pitch, but it’s deep with confidence, and soon his hand, the one still damp with saliva and other things settles heavy in hair, pulling him down, and Tooru goes eagerly. He feels wide and strange in his mouth, different and yet not from the last time they had done this. He still tastes, still smells like Yuujiro, a taste Tooru has not realized how much he had missed until this moment.  
  
    “Tooru, Tooru, Tooru-“ And at the sound of his name, he only moves faster, his jaw aching with the strain, and suddenly Yuujiro’s hand clenches painfully in his hair, his body curving in, as though pained, and Tooru sputters, choking on the thick liquid spilling into his mouth. Yuujiro is panting, and his body unfurls to lie back on Tooru’s bed, and everything seems so surreal that Tooru starts to laugh, small and coy, one dirtied hand coming up to hide his mouth delicately.  
  
    Yuujiro looks up at him, hair a sweaty mess, strewn across cheap pillowcases and laughs too.  
  
:  
  
    Yuujiro stays for three days, all he can reasonably miss of class. Tooru goes to class without him, and spends his time texting him. It’s little things and small jokes, and it scares him a bit how easy he has fallen back into something, as though they had spent no time apart at all. As though they had never fought. He finds it hard to remember why they were angry.  
  
    On the second day, when he comes home, Yuujiro has his dysfunctional wardrobe spread across the bed, unopened make-up cases strewn alluringly. He himself sits casually in a chair to the side; neat fitted slacks and thin t-shirt making him look like an out of work model. The part of his brain not terrified by what is covering the bed thinks it is a very good look for Yuujiro.  
  
    “Ah.”  
  
    And now Tooru is remembering why they fought.  
  
    “Why…?” Yuujiro murmurs and Tooru has nowhere else to look, so he looks down.  
  
    “I…” He stops, thinking about what to say, and Yuujiro finishes his sentence before he could even start.  
  
    “Why do you have all this? You told me you wouldn’t do it ever again.”  
  
    “I meant that.” And here Tooru swallows, and shuffles his feet, still in scuffed trainers. “I meant that then. And now…”  
  
    “Now?” And Yuujiro’s voice is deadly still, as though he is afraid to stir the air with sound.  
  
    “Now, I think, maybe. Maybe it’s something I could do. With you. If you wanted.”  
  
    It takes Tooru a long time to look up, the silence terrifying him, and when he does, Yuujiro is smiling at him, a beautiful rich smile, nothing like the pretty canned smile he gave out to hundreds of boys back when they were young and innocent and so happy together. It is a pure smile, and a bit of a hungry one and his hand is stroking the lace edge of a dress he had draped across the edge of Tooru’s bed.  
  
:  
  
    “Mikoto! Arisada-san!”  
  
    Tooru welcomes them in, a little terrified. He is not young as he used to be, though if he told anyone else they would laugh at him, a mere twenty-one. He is not as young as he was, and he worries about stubble on his chin, and he worries about his height, diminutive for a normal college male, tall for a girl. And Mikoto looks so surprised, his eyes wide in almost comical shock, which would be funny if it weren’t for the terror fluttering in the pit of Tooru’s stomach.  
  
    He opens the door wider, to let them step inside, his smile fixed, when suddenly Yuujiro’s arm slides around his waist, firm and there and Tooru smiles, bright and cheerful the thin layer of lipstick making the movement seem slick.  
  
    “Come in, please, come in. Mikoto, you act like you’ve never seen a hallway before.” And he smiles, turning and walking back down the hall, leaving Yuu to handle the guests, the soft flow of his dress swishing around his bare legs.

**Author's Note:**

> Accept your [inner princess](http://honeyedlion.tumblr.com/). Or, submit a request.


End file.
